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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126409">A diary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrailmaen/pseuds/afrailmaen'>afrailmaen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>XCOM (Video Games) &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:13:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrailmaen/pseuds/afrailmaen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A recollection of thoughts of an Ex-ADVENT soldier. </p><p>(Originally published long ago, I'm taking this up once more.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="chapter">
<p></p><div class="userstuff module"><p>
      <span class="u">Intro</span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>As is happened, it just appeared to be the day when Pilgrim remembered all she had done and screamed out in a bout of agony and self-hatred.  </p><p> </p><p>The massacres the bodies- she remembered it most.</p><p> </p><p>The children without the limbs, they stuck with her the longest.</p><p> </p><p>The lack of help, a lack of punishment, it was their guilt, eating them inside out. At the end of the day, no reckoning was going to arrive, and they, as heinous acts as they had done, we're unable to be corrected. They would stick with them forevermore, and then some more.</p><p> </p><p>Their family is gone, never to return. They knew this, having seen this with their own eyes. Understood the meaning behind the unbearable muttering, knowing the meaning of the stillness in their half-closed eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Their new family, the one that took them in? They were unlikely to care for them any longer. The war was over, and they were all changed.</p><p> </p><p>At least, that’s how the story goes, or how I choose to interpret it. There are times where the difference is nebulous, and the answers, lacking. I can only hope I give my experiences justice, as this... book, develops. The last twenty years have been unkind to humanity, and frankly, it’s been hard for those enslaved as well.</p><p> </p><p>Life may be meaningless, but the future, and if it's not if that's what I understand this day.²</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<h3 class="heading">Day <strike>829</strike>  819</h3></div></div><div class="chapter">
<p></p><div class="userstuff module"><p>At the time of writing this, I’m going to be forty years old. I will just have begun to restate myself in studying psychology, the second semester of the first year, and somehow, the hordes of lost were still not under control.</p><p> </p><p>Not that I’m complaining, it keeps things quiet, somehow. Cheaper too.</p><p> </p><p>But that’s always the problem, isn’t it? I should be complaining. Some of those affected used to be my friends, my family, my acquaintances. Their bodies to never be buried. It's fucked up how I was able to form friendships while under the Elder's control. I think some of them were eaten too.</p><p> </p><p>Not even the aliens know how they popped up. They apparently only carried heavy mutagen containers, according to several of those interviewed- it appears that they were all as much of puppets as were the ADVENT soldiers themselves. Not that many feel guilty about what happened, or extensively so. The most notable opinion was that those lost were an “<em>Irreplaceable loss</em>”, but of what kind? I barely remember the trials themselves, even if I had to attend them.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>I do remember the funerals, however. I only went to two, and I’m still never going to forgive for failing… anything really. Call it Christian guilt, or anything similar, I can’t quite make sense of it myself.</p><p> </p><p>The first one… it was of a mother and a child. They died during a retaliatory mission. A viper got them, blast going through them like if they were not there. They had little family remaining, so I was one of the few people there. My presence was unappreciated, however- and I was requested to leave. It was only natural to comply, after all, I didn’t want to hurt the remains of a broken family. </p><p> </p><p>The second one… I am not sure if I remember who it was.</p><p>It’ll come to me, sooner or later- it always does.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>My life has become a drag, and going back to college has earnt some unwanted attention.</p><p> </p><p>I’m older than most students, and some faculty members. Taller too, if it’s due to genetic engineering I’m refusing to acknowledge, or because I refuse to remember.</p><p> </p><p>Life, however, has remained mostly the same: wake up, go to college, go back home, study, rinse and repeat until you progress. The latter hasn’t happened quite yet, although, it’s only a matter of time when ADHD is taken care of. Despite everything, the gene modification clinics have done an incredible amount of good.</p><p> </p><p>Not that that matters when the popular consensus is that they are death camps for general populous, not like I can blame them.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>It’s odd to see a 19-year-old institution just collapse you know? Even if don’t consider me as having lived through those years myself, it’s still just weird seeing those places just fall into abandonment and despair, for better or worse. They handed put the cure for cancer and amyloids as if it were candy on the street. Down syndrome and its related abortions became a thing of the past.</p><p> </p><p>On the other, the population of the world now amounted to 5.2 billion people.</p><p>Make of that what you will, I’ve grown numb to the numbers myself. Probably because the aliens ended up being just as controlled as us. They all had “mind regulation” tech installed when they were born. Like a tumour, growing in their head, removing the “heretic thoughts”. Not that it mattered anyway- the psychic network had fallen, and with it, the biochips encoded into their genetic code. ³ Even if trials were held, several members of the defence (correctly) pointed out that not only were there multiple individuals that could not be held accountable for their actions.</p><p> </p><p>I really don’t know how to feel about that.</p><p> </p></div></div><div class="chapter">
<p></p><div class="chapter preface group"><h3 class="heading">Day 820</h3>
<p></p><div class="summary module">
<p></p><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I read the news today, Oh boy. Was it good.</p></blockquote></div></div><div class="userstuff module"><p>My day began, like many others before it, on grooming myself and getting ready to leave to college, checking on my phone, and watering the plants.</p><p>Splashing my face with water, I didn’t linger too long on anything else. Checking the time, it was still five. Enough time to get there without paying for a bus. Leaving the door closed, I begin to head to college. Just go north, don’t change direction.      That’s how I always led myself before, and that’s how I’m doing it now.</p><p>The streets are silent as I go down them.   Not much stirs at this time, other than me and the occasional bird. I’m sure I saw a hairy black another thing, a rat, once, it didn’t last long, however, as it ran away. Reminds me that despite ADVENT’s efforts, some vermin still survived. Can’t say the same about pigeons, however, haven’t seen a single one nor in the present, nor in my repressed memories.</p><p>There’s not much to write on days like these. It’s nice, I like the calm. I wouldn’t go back in time. Or maybe I would if it was more than 22 years, but to do what? Wallow in the inevitable? About how cold the climate is? Or about how I would be entirely out of place? It’s not hard to picture such things.</p><p>At this hour, the city is welcoming to my anxieties. The twilight doesn’t judge you by your actions, such as burning hospitals, shooting prisoners. or… other untasteful activities. The past seems distant, nearly meaningless, in this morning haze.</p><p>A splash of water, a speeding truck. Fortunately, I had my stuff on my bag. I’m still going to take a bath when I get home.</p><p>At the current moment, however, I only wish to arrive on time and to graduate college. That’s as far as my long, and short term plans, go. There’s really not much else on the list. Probably get some ice cream that won’t kill me due to my high intolerance to milk and sugar but that’s probably it.</p><p>I don’t really plan to go back to the extended family or to go visit the old comrades. They only bring back bad memories.</p><p>I’m not willing to go to counselling either. It’s not that It’ll make me look weak, it’s something else, and I really don't know what it may be.</p><p>…</p><p>I have gone to the supermarket today.</p><p>There are some faces. A number look like me, and the others do not like me. Some have actually managed to afford gene mods to have different coloured scales. Must be nice.</p><p>My wallet sits on the interior of my jacket pocket. I’m going to have to remember to take it out when I go to the washing machine. I think I left in there when I put it in the clothes basket, I’m going to have to check on it later before I stuff it in. I’m glad I kept spare shirts.</p><p>On the supermarket itself, however, it rested on my bag, then, or some time ago.<br/>
<br/>
The speakers blared, and I reached for a firearm that wasn't there.<br/>
<br/>
Being tense over nothing got jarring, sometimes.</p><p>Serves me right for talking the wrong language for twelve years straight.</p><p>So, back at the mall. I wanted… meat. I lacked that, at home. And eggs. I ran out yesterday. Butter? I think I had that, back home, so I didn’t bother buying that. If I did miss butter, Tiago was probably going to suffer through mashed potatoes without butter once more. What was his fascination with that dairy product anyhow?</p><p>~~~<br/>
“¿Un kilogramo de carne molida?” &lt;One kilogram of ground beef?&gt; The lady, the one tending to the butcher section, seemed a little incredulous. Was it too much for one person? Where was the one that attended the stand day after day? She knew I always picked a kilogram every once in a while. As typical for the region, this “new lady” had black hair and brown eyes.<br/>
“Si, por favor.” &lt;Yes please&gt; My words come out tired without meaning to. I remain straight, it’s poor manners to look to the floor when talking to someone else, my mother used to say. She wordlessly fills a bag with the desired meat, weighs it, then hands it over. I hand over the desired credits. It always was 10 creds, so I barely had to look at the colour of the bill.</p><p>“Oye! son doce créditos. Me debes dos.” &lt;Hey! It’s twelve creds, you need two.&gt; Sighing, I hand her the two metallic slabs symbolizing the required change. It’s best not to argue, life was doing good, no need to complicate it over small things like that. When I arrived home, I was probably going to forget that small exchange, or relegate it to the things that I didn’t like remembering. I receive my sustenance, and I take my leave. Things went smoothly all things considered. No insults were launched.<br/>
<span class="u"><strike>_|_________________|_</strike></span></p><p>All went well, I suppose. Things are calm. Not much trouble. The odd lady that usually attends is missing. I hope she’s doing well. The new one was kind of cold, but she’s probably nice.</p><p>Only two eggs got cracked when I was walking home. It’s honestly kind of a relief.</p><p>…</p><p>Some other feeling comes over when I’m doing homework, it’s kind of hard to describe.</p><p>Failure, perhaps? It’s hard to tell.</p><p>I’m not quite sure what is it, myself. It’s similar to sadness, but it’s… just not quite a depression. It’s plausible that it is melancholy. But for what? Life is…</p><p><br/>
I don’t understand crap. It’s just reading, but I can’t make sense of things. Have I gone crazy? Or has my mind degraded enough so the only thing I knew how to do was how to follow orders?</p><p>I look back at my handwriting. Legible enough. I still hate it. It’s not the language or the words, it’s just because it was a stupid idea, I progress, nevertheless.</p><p>I miss everyone, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to write that down.</p>
<h3 class="heading">Day 841</h3><p>Good enough. I have nothing to long for, or to wish for more. Why would I feel like this?</p><p>Class and shopping went well, I guess. Walking homeless so. The walls of my house got painted again with that awful graffiti.</p><p>“No xenos.”</p><p>“Fuck off back home”</p><p>“Deja nuestra ciudad animal.”</p><p>Fucking hell. I am more native to the region than them.</p><p>Time to clean the wall later, but a reminder like that was always unpleasant..</p><p> </p></div></div><div class="chapter">
<p></p><div class="chapter preface group">
<p></p><div class="summary module"><h3 class="heading">Day 852</h3>
<p></p><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Is it getting better</p><p>Or do you feel the same?</p></blockquote></div></div><div class="userstuff module"><p>Bucket of soapy water.</p><p>A bucket of soapy water, and a sponge.</p><p>A bucket of soapy water, a sponge, and some other crap.</p><p>I’m not going to write this down. It’s too mundane, too trivial.</p><p>Or maybe I should, who knows? The internet certainly says it’s a good idea to “let it all out”. But it’s the fucking internet.</p><p>The sky is clear. A rarity in days of the old, but with the smog somewhat gone, the sun feels nice on my skin.</p><p>Scrubbing up and down they spray paint persists. It should come off after enough scrubbing, but when It wore down like this it ended up being a drag…</p><p>My scrubbing comes to halt. Someone has been looking at me, on the corner of the street. They walk off when I spot them, but I know they were there. One of those mockeries, a tank bred Viper. I’m glad they have a life, less happy so that.</p><p>Returning to my duties, imagine my surprise when they begin overlooking at my works once more. His attempts at being discrete fall into the childish “Peek over a corner and hope for the best” category. Does she really think I can’t see her?</p><p>“<em>Could you NOT?</em>” she drops the act too; I think I made it clear to her that I dislike being observed. Coming by, I still find it odd seeing them dressed, even if partially</p><p>“<em>Hello</em>.” She blinks a couple of times. I don’t know what they could possibly want, yet. They’re not known for being alone, so maybe I should expect her friends, too? </p><p>“What do you want?” Voice stern, I try to not let go of my annoyance<br/>
“Do you remember me?” Out of the millions identical to you, I might need a better explanation to that “me”.<br/>
“Could you not? I’m trying to forget all of that.” It’s how I roll these days, try to forget till you can’t forget any more. To be honest, it doesn’t seem to work very well in making me feel better.<br/>
“<em>Why?</em>”<br/>
“<em>You haven’t answered my question</em>.”<br/>
“Was there an answer to that question in the first place? The answer is no, by the way.” He’s growing cheeky, the fucker. Might as well let her preach for Jesus or whatever they did these days. Apparently , some had found a renewed faith in the Christian religion. I had done the same, but considering the constant visits from those fellas, I was reconsidering.<br/>
<br/>
“…” I sigh, then shake my head. Most tank bred Vipers look the same, and I have purposefully attempted to repress the memories of my time under ADVENT control, of course, incubated ones had that luxury over us. I knew enough, I didn’t desire to attain more knowledge about what I didn’t how I behaved, who I killed, what orders I followed. Just having this conversation was enough to bring some of the less favourable ones to the surface. With this in mind, it was probably an opportune moment to end the conversation, if I discovered how. <em>“Why are you so interested if I remember you? Did I know you well</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Unit </em><em>179824, if you were called back to duty, would you accept</em>?”</p><p>“…”</p><p>My blood runs cold. I haven’t been called that in a long time. Or at least, as long as two years are. It’s not too long, but just enough to spark enough hatred so that a shove pushes her backwards. I didn’t care that she fell on her ass, I wanted her gone.</p><p>“<em>Get the fuck out-”</em></p><p>“<em>Listen, I didn’t mea-”</em></p><p>“<em>I MEAN GET LOST. NOW.</em>”</p><p>I don’t shout, I try not to. It’s clear that I could crush a physically weaker opponent if shit came to shove. I was never going back to them. I would stand by my ground on my beliefs, and never allow myself to commit such atrocities for anyone, or to anyone. Makes sense for non-earthlings to have no sense of morality, the fuckers. It scurries away, dashing past a… close friend.</p><p>“¿Quién coño fue esa?” Tiago doesn’t look particularly amazed. His expression underneath his balding head and his ever messy beard is one of bewilderment. It’s not often when I use the Lingua franca of the invaders, so he knew it must have been something, or someone important. Walking over to my side, carrying those reusable bags I often saw him returning with, it’s easy to deduce he’s coming back home.</p><p>“Nadie, solo ve a adentro, ya limpio las paredes.” He shakes his head in disbelief. He understood the subtext, and the message was clear to him: We’ll talk about this later. For now, cleaning the walls would be to clean my mind.</p><p>I scrub away at the paint, relieved to see it go away, piece by piece. Sooner or later, after the discussion, I would burry this scornful memory, just like the rest.<br/>
I take the time to add a small note to the whole diary thing. I kept thinking about ditching it, however.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Cleaning the wall was a breeze, not much went wrong.</p><p>Why I ever thought anything would arise is beyond me.</p></div></div><div class="chapter">
<p></p></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Exams are coming up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Day 860</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p>Just another day through life.</p>
<p>The conversation went well enough, I dare say. I don’t remember enough to transcribe it, because nothing really was memorable, but it was more or less “Take care of yourself.”<br/><br/>Kind of funny seeing a parole officer asking that of an ex-prisoner of war.<br/><br/>Especially so when I had lost this hunk of cellulose for eight days. I might have had a chance to write things down if I hadn’t misplaced it under the mattress, somehow.<br/><br/>So, on the plans for to do today: <br/>-Get food. Preferably a guinea pig, if <br/>-Check out what are these “Lactose+Sucrose pills” that just seemed to arrive on the supper. I hope they are what I think they are, because if they’re not, Tiago will have to file for “accidental suicide”.<br/>-Check out the starch pills, by the way. Nearly forgot about them.<br/>-Find myself a new notebook for Emotion and Motivation class.<br/>-Cram until my eyes fell out.<br/>-Find a study group (?) According to Tiago, there were some groups online to help with such thing. I never thought about doing something like that. Just goes to show how much basic knowledge you can skip out upon by joining up on the military as a 0-year-old.<br/><br/>I’ll write more on the afternoon.<br/><br/><strong><span class="u">--<strike>---_</strike></span></strong><strike><span class="u">__<strong>_</strong></span><strong>_______</strong></strike></p>
<p>Got back from the store. As it turns out, the pills are as much as I expected, and there’s no need for ambulance.<br/><br/>How can I tell? Simple, really! I consumed one of each (and I read the label I’m not stupid).</p>
<p>I also got myself some ice cream for the first time in my entire life. And in spite of how much Tiago praises it, I absolutely detested it. How can humans like something so <em>sweet?</em> It’s sickeningly sticky too. Reminds me of the first time I tried to use honey to cook a steak. Safe to say, <em>never again</em>. Not only I was stuck in the bathroom for what seemed like weeks, it also proved hard to wash off. I was fond of the shirt I had left prison with, and having it have a yellowish stain kind of takes away from all the signatures I had collected prior to having to move out.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 861</strong></span></p>
<p>Saturday? Saturday. No classes today. Just mess around at home, and get annoyed that you have nothing to do. I’ll get back to this once I have watered the plants.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 862</strong></span></p>
<p>I know it sounds lame, but I got distracted, hence, the full day gap between today and yesterday. No writing done yesterday, but today is a new day, and I promise, to both myself, and this lifeless hunk of paper, that I won’t discard you and end up using you as another element to make sure my bed isn’t wobbly.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 872</strong></span></p>
<p>I fear that I might have forgotten about this thing for some time, and trust me, when the parole officer (it’s actually more along the lines of re-occupational officer, but it sounds better as parole officer) tells you to do something, you better do it. Or risk going back to jail for arbitrary reasons. <br/><br/>So, first, feelings. I definitely feel much better than two weeks ago. I have come out of my slump. I absolutely hold no resentment towards those that “confused” my bag with theirs, none at all. <br/><br/>What to do today? Eat, study some, go to college, haul my butt back here, eat some more so I don’t have to waste time on it tomorrow, and study until I fall asleep.<br/><br/>All good? All good.<br/><br/>======<br/>Back, time to make myself some bacon.<br/><br/>Now I’m studying.<br/><br/>And now I think “I should have bought a full chicken instead!” If you’re reading this Tiago, just because you’re my Re-occupational Officer and you’re offering me to live in your house doesn’t mean you’re exempt from doing groceries. Remember that for next week, please. I like bacon and all, but it’s not the most nutritious thing, you know?<br/><br/>What did I think of the day? It was neat I guess. Except for the one person who insisted in asking me questions so that things didn’t devolve into single lines of text each day, as that was annoying for him to check my “progress” on. <br/><br/>Just one more year of this nonsense until I’m free to do as I please.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Day ∞</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p><br/><br/>I’M FREE!<br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/>Just kidding. <br/><br/>There’s no class on Wednesday, no graffiti to clean, no plants to water, nothing to do at all, except maybe sunbath with no sun, because it never seemed to come along these days.<br/><br/>So, if I were to fill in the format you painfully guided me though yesterday,<br/>To do: Slack off. I finished any leftover work, but I’ll probably study if the constant stream of enjoyment from the interwebs wears off.<br/><br/>How I’m feeling? Disappointed, somewhat. I should get used to the sun not rising at all, and considering the amount of Lost being torched every day, it should come off as no surprise.<br/><br/>(If you actually believed that I’d laugh my ass off. But you didn’t… did you?)</p>
<p><br/><strike>========</strike><br/><br/>What did I think of this day? It was somewhat boring, with some mildly interesting bits. Did you know that over where City 13 was once located there was this thing called Zamrock? I am not one for music, I don’t think I really had time to enjoy listening to things while enjoying a constant buzzing in my head, telling me what to do most of the time. But I can see why most humans enjoy this sort of thing, finding new tunes. It’s pretty… entertaining? I’m not really sure what to use to describe the sound, and, it would be entertaining if I were to just search for new tunes, but that’s not what I’m here to do. I need to study. And hopefully, get a degree in something other than “shooting” and “strangling”.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 874</strong></span></p>
<p>A true slog.<br/><br/><br/><br/> Going to college early isn’t really my thing. I prefer staying asleep all day. But without personal transportation and no busses at 5 am, the only option left is to get there the old fashioned way. <br/><br/>On another note, I thought nothing of the day, I had to study earlier, and I’m going to stop writing on here before my brain melts.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 876</strong></span></p>
<p>Not a single one of the homework I have in the given moment makes any sense.<br/><br/>This paints a grim picture for the oncoming exams.<br/><br/><span class="u"><strong>Day 880</strong></span></p>
<p>The weekend went by fast. Tiago had to leave to the XCOM headquarters for something. I have still to find out what it was. By checking news clippings, I am able to discover absolutely nothing, other than the obvious. 31 still has the most populous, and the most ads, the Lost around 07, are still going strong, there’s still Scholarships going around so more individuals can contribute to the workforce. I still think it’s kind of funny seeing that go around.<br/><br/>Like, “oh, we’re not slaughtering you anymore, go ahead and work, we’ll pretend the propaganda both sides published during the war never happened”. Like some bizarre kind of dream, kind of like that book I read up while in the detention center. Lemme look up the name real quick.<br/><br/>It was Alice in Wonderland. No clue where the Wonderland part came from, as it more seemed to be a bizzareland kind of deal. Nothing made sense, and common forms of logic were kind of thrown out. Kind of like… how XCOM just went back to doing their thing, and there’s still pockets of Reapers going about their deal. Of course, their leader might say they’re not <em>Reapers </em>Reapers, but I would <strong>beg </strong>to differ with a single line of thought:<br/><br/>The so called “Ex Reapers” still engage in eating us. Enough said. I might tease Tiago about eating a person when he gets annoying, but these guys?  They’re just mental.</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Day 881</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p>Mid-week free day. Time to study, sit alone, and maybe, get a call from one of the Re-Occupation guys to tell me to behave and not blow stuff up. Which is a shame, because I had originally planned to jury rig a car and blow it up, but oh well…<br/><br/>I can’t even drive most cars.<br/><br/><br/>Turns out, I was called by someone. It’s pretty obvious who it is, and he says exactly what I came to expect:<br/>“Please behave, do not trash the house, this is a shared home, and whenever there’s a new individual eligible for release they will be staying there bla bla bleugh.” It wasn’t exactly how he said it, but it was pretty exasperating. Saying “Yes” repeatedly seemed to do the trick, but now came studying. And as that could be expected, it went regularly. I was not able to tell how well I had studies until exams, which, by the way, were next week, but I reckon taking notes, making mind maps, talking to a chair about the woes of cognitive psychology, statistics, and whatever else was on the study list was bound to help me remember Mr Bandura´s name, and whoever else had proved important to developing the science of Psychology.<br/><br/> I was not going to be the first one of my kind to get a degree in such a thing, but joining the ranks of those bred into the job by the Elders was going to prove problematic, to say the least.<br/><br/>I really hope I pass this exam.</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Day 891</strong>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
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